Bitter Sweet, That's How It Ends
by libbyluvs
Summary: He's always been weak. Pretending only makes the hurt worse. How sweet when he doesn't need to try anymore.


Just take it.

Lie there and take it.

Don't speak. He doesn't like when you talk.

Best not to struggle, its never helped before, only gets him more riled up.

But you have to fight it, don't you?

How can you not? This frightens you.

Pain. Pain is scary...

He had the wounds to prove it, he wasn't purposefully trying to fail. If Megatron would take a klik and just listen he'd see the truth. The seeker cried because he couldn't help himself. This was the real him anyways. The others never see it, he simply didn't have the time to break for all of them.

He sobbed and coughed and choked on his own intake fluids.

Acting proud and defiant when there are no such things in your spark takes an inevitable toll. It is his fallback, his only and constant resort.

Play the prissy prince, be the bitchy seeker queen.

Cry all you want.

This was going to happen either way.

And it does. Then its over. He hides Starscream away, and he dons the impostors shell.

Megatron doesn't comment, lets him walk right out, helm held high, spark quaking, lost...

* * *

And then the pesky questions, "The Pit did you do to yourself? Don't you tell me nothing! Scavenger has been bringing back less and less parts for replacements. I can't afford to keep patching you up like this!"

The seeker once again mentally pats himself on the back for choosing to not show Hook what lie just under his pelvic panel the first time he'd crawled to the constructicon for help. His damaged outer layers were disgusting in their warped-ness enough.

The fake snaps,"As SIC of the Decepticons, second only to Megatron himself, I don't have to tell you anything! Now shut up and fix me!"

"High and mighty are you?"

"And don't you forget it!" Hook's quirked optic ridge makes the seeker seethe inwardly.

Please just drop it. He does.

Primus hates him...

* * *

The Autobot looks so scared at the end of the seeker's blaster, cracked, blue optics bright with knowing fear.

He grits his denta, playing it of as a sneering smirk.

He has to do it. Do it, or be taken again.

Powerglide's engine putters to a noisy stop, too munched up from the crash landing to carry on, and the red plane is knocked offline.

Here's his chance. The Autobot won't even feel it, most likely.

He's ready to do this, to spare himself some temporary pain. Kill the other so he can walk straight next cycle. His blue servo lifts, aims...

Drops loosely to his side.

It was his sparks fault he would be forced to come out of his disguise for Megatron; his weakness that would give the sick fragger the most vulnerable and precious part of himself.

He kicks the autofool's un-moving frame only once as penance for his continuation of life, and flees.

Right into those unforgiving grey arms.

Megatron is not pleased...

* * *

They talk about him. About all the wrong things.

Ramjet is annoyingly loud, "That Screamer glare down his nose at me again and I'll break it for his 'highness'! Primus knows it'll be an improvement from the way the nasty fragger looks now!"

"Yah," a Reflector agrees, "thinks he's Primus' beloved."

"Thinks he can please a god? The glitch."

"Thinks he is a god."

He walks by faster. They'll get no satisfaction from his shame.

And since when was Megatron a deity? The mech's just a sadistic war machine. That's all.

And yet he owns you.

Aww, gonna cry again?

Yes...

* * *

Just take it.

Lie there and take it.

Don't break. But he's all ready broken.

No! He'd win, he could! He could kill his master and be the leader everyone thought he was obsessed with becoming. He just had to catch the warlord while his back is turned and Starscream would spread his wings in freedom like he had once upon a time.

The seeker's optics flash but once and Megatron catches it.

And snuffs it right out.

He would just have to keep pretending.

Pretending forever...

* * *

His everywhere burned with overwhelming fire, in some areas literally. His wings had no feeling though, and that was a remarkable blessing. They'd been crushed, dented, shredded, and sawed from his frame so many times that he actually rejoiced at the dead feeling of mangled sensory cables.

Some bot was standing over him, his optics too blurry to make the enemy's blurred figure out, but only a foolishly soft-sparked Autobot would hesitate to end him.

He failed in raising his servos to protect his chest plates. Huh, they must be broken.

He's had worse.

And then it hits him. He's been hiding for so long, pretending for as far as he'd care to remember...

Outlived his worth for far too long.

Life returns to his limbs. Joyous, he reaches out, slowly as his arms are spurting energon, losing power.

His chest plates part, and there are gasps, but he doesn't let their horror concern him.

He's ugly and scarred inside and he knows it. This is him. This is Starscream.

He grips the bot's gun, lovingly places the end of the double barrel to the overheated casing of his spark chamber.

The weapon shakes. He smiles kindly. None of that now. The bot has to be brave for the seeker. Its better for both of them this way.

Oh, it feels good.

He needn't pretend anymore.

Someone says his name. Not the fake one. The real one.

There are drops of coolant splattering against the cracked layer of metal partially covering his small life force, tears not his own.

A drop hits his ripped lips. It tastes sweet.

So sweet.

* * *

Sorry. Go read something happy now. Y~Y


End file.
